Lee Brilleaux's Boots

So we reluctantly leave,
Just before Wilko finishes the final
number and I hug my skinny sister, who,
out of love and kipping on a mate's sofa
in Mornington Crescent, wears her bright
red lipstick like a scar on her washed out
face as we embrace and think of Gran's last
breaths among statues coming soon and slipping
away to the cloakroom a man argues with the
attendant, apologises for being obstreperous
and tells me in a half broken wheeze of pride
he's wearing Lee Brilleaux's Boots.